


H.A.L.O.

by NaiKireiYuki



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eremin - Freeform, FBI, M/M, Military, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5590774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaiKireiYuki/pseuds/NaiKireiYuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin spends a better part of his day proving his worth on the American Hostage Rescue Team. The rest of it, he spends pining after his best friend, Eren. After Armin receives incredible news, he tries to cut and paste him and Eren together. But after a lethal encounter, Armin experiences his pipe-dream rescind into mere fantasy. Guess it was too much to hope for happiness from this relentless world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disruption

12 days.

He had known a total of 12 days.

The total time of gestation was about 40 weeks. 12 days paled in comparison to that length of time.

But it was still 12 days.

12 whole days.

To the average human, that may not seem like a long time. But to Armin and his fast-pace lifestyle, it represented an entire generation. So many failed opportunities and so many sullied chances. Every time he tried, he would become rigid with paralysis, his jaw would become slack, and his mouth would rival the texture of an entire cotton field. He could condemn the incredulous gazes he got from Eren’s startlingly vivid gray eyes for his downfall. But he was aware that that would not be rational. In reality, he was just not courageous enough to spit it out.

This morning, he religiously practiced in front of his bathroom’s well-lit mirror.

I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

_I’m pregnant._

He said the words with varying expressions, then until the words didn’t make sense anymore.

He smiled… Then he frowned. He remained indifferent. Then exhaled and then dropped the explosive bomb. After about 20 minutes, he clutched the sink and realized that it was truly all for not. He was primarily disadvantaged because he surmised that he would unconsciously imbibe Eren’s energy and mirror the aura he exuded.

Because they were so close…

They always had been.

Ever since they were younger.

They had done everything together, from graduating high school all the way to their enlistment in the Tactical Recruiting Program for the Hostage Rescue Team. He did not regret any of the time they shared, regardless of how fleeting and how grueling it was. Although, he had to admit that when he had initially promised himself that he would remain intertwined with his best friend, he thought that he had bit off more than he could chew. But he had been determined. The effort was not a series of well-orchestrated flukes. He really had to work twice as hard to achieve similar results to Eren and Eren’s foster sister, Mikasa. Sometimes, he even flung his dignity away—working so hard at their FBI appointment training during their notoriously intense obstacle courses that he vomited. Eren continually warned him to not push himself beyond his physical limit but he never heeded his cautious advisement. He wanted—no—had to stay by Eren’s side at any cost.

Because of his perceived recklessness, Eren sought to protect him every chance he could. However, he often rejected the tender treatment, much to Eren’s chagrin of course. He resolved in life to be Eren’s complement, not his burden. 

Despite this strong commitment, the two-week training in Quantico, Virginia nearly did do him in. He had to excel beyond what he had accomplished with the FBI tactical S.W.A.T. training. However, the burdensome stress threatened to make him reconsider wanting to be a part of this unit with Eren and Mikasa. Providentially, he prevailed through the H.A.L.O. exercises, the taxing calisthenics, running drills, late night firearm sessions, target practice and the inflexible requirements to wake up at the butt-crack of dawn. After they performed the complicated sequences and conducted themselves with optimal proficiency, despite the sessions being devoid of feedback, the commanders and the HRT operators offered he, Eren, Mikasa and select others, appointment onto the team.

Armin had never been so excited in his life. He urged they celebrate. And so they did.

During their three years on the team, they had been deployed quite a few times to several different areas of the world: south Florida, Afghanistan, and even Libya. Each time, Armin had geared up, formulating strategies for raids and complex arrest sequences. During that time, their FBI commander, Erwin Smith, unearthed that Armin had a natural affinity for scoping out areas, devising formation, strategy, and counter-terrorism measures. Slowly, he was integrated into the intelligence and observation unit of the HRT but still remained active on the sniper team. Eren was proud of this development. Armin recalled Eren praising him for his gift of brilliance as a tactician. Eren was genuinely happy that he was finally being exalted for his abilities.

Soon after they had returned from their FBI force protection mission in Afghanistan, they had settled into their roles at Quantico, Virginia. They were committed to the 60-day cycle of training, before they were to be stationed in North Carolina. Thanks to America’s military industrial complex, there was an overflow of new, unfamiliar equipment when he returned. So naturally there was equipment that Armin was uncertain how to use. The new developed technology was state of the art. It was introduced to them before they were even utilized by the American military branches. The learning curve was large and he wasn’t so sure that he would able to learn every as quickly as he was expected to. So, he consulted Eren's expertise in the firearm department. He was a fast-learner after he had a chance to experiment with it for a short period of time. Eren obliged and helped him as much as he needed or would allow.

Once, two of their team members unexpectedly came upon Eren leaning closely behind him as he tried to perfect the use the HK PSG-1 sniper rifle. The aviator specialist, Reiner, and Jean, Eren’s eternal rival from hell and a member of the helicopter unit that operated on the Maritime domain, snickered at the compromising position. Jean commented that it was ‘it was gross how he was all over Eren’ but that he was really capable member of the HRT. Armin accepted the backhanded compliment because it was Jean. He didn’t expect him to have fineness. Nevertheless, he did scold him for calling he and Eren’s closeness, “gross.” Reiner’s weary silence confirmed his complicity in the matter. At the time, he brushed it off. They were insane to insinuate that there was a romantic leg to he and Eren’s relationship.

But to his surprise, after their continued stint of duty at Quantico, Armin couldn’t believe that there was credence what those two fools were implying. He frequently thought he was imagining Eren’s lingering stares and increasingly intimate touches. With every passing day, it seemed like his best friend was slowly striving to be _more_ than just his best friend.

At first, he assumed that their engagement in intense obstacle courses and the constant updates in intense security training with the Navy Seals was _officially_ causing his brain to disintegrate. But as time progressed, Eren would hover more and more vigilantly. After he was sure that there was shift in their interaction, he became skeptical about the concept of advancing their consistently codependent relationship. Contrarily, he didn’t necessarily do anything to dissuade Eren from the likelihood of it happening. When Eren kissed him on the cheek, he returned it. When he hugged him a little longer than usual, he allowed it. When Eren threaded his fingers through his, thumb stroking the back of his hand, he just smiled. 

He would have been deceiving himself if he said that didn’t enjoy the intensifying attention. The way Eren highly spoke of him, the tender way he stroked his hair, and the delicate way he would whisper his innermost thoughts in his ear… It had Armin quickly wishing he could consummate his intensifying appetite for Eren.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long because on Veteran’s Day, he got his wish.

He had traveled with Eren to Boston and rented a hotel. They had done some sight seeing, eating at the native small businesses, and even commiserating with the friendly locals. After the sun retreated into the sky, they returned to their hotel room, worn from the day’s activities. Eren looked a little conflicted—troubled even. Armin was prepared to engage in an in-depth conversation about what was clouding his best friend’s mind. But before he could even squeeze a word out, Eren’s right hand had wormed its way between his thighs… He then incoherently mumbled something that to this day, Armin had never deciphered. Their apprehensive gawks rendered them both as immobilized as Greek statues. Figuring that it was now or never, Armin impulsively locked lips with his best friend… His comrade. His confidant. His protector and his soon to be lover… Immediately, he was relieved. Eren’s feelings were indeed mutual and he wasn’t manufacturing every sensual encounter in his head beforehand. The last thing he wanted was to be wafting in the wind, eager for Eren to return his unrequited feelings.

Luckily, he didn’t have to.

Eren had touched him with more valiancy—the pooling heat tightening just below his stomach. He smiled as Eren tangled his fingers in his chin length hair and undid his trousers. The rest was history…

Here he was one year later. Pregnant with his best friend’s child.

And Eren didn’t know.

And Armin was hesitant to tell Eren. Because Eren hadn’t asked him to be his one and only.

They had made love a few times and each time was more magical—more transcendent than the last. But it hadn’t motivated Eren to actually claim him exclusively.

Armin acknowledged it had emotionally wounded him over time. But he still didn’t press the issue with Eren… All he wanted was for Eren to be happy and if the current capacity of their relationship was what made him happy, he was more than glad to give it to him… No matter how much it hurt.

He noticed Eren become distant and even become short just by his presence. He asked if Eren needed to talk but he bit his tongue and refused to offer valuable information about his emotional state. Usually, all Armin got was an ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’m fine, really.’ It all dissuaded him from approaching him about anything. Armin wanted to be open and honest with Eren but with his varying moods, it was difficult to differentiate what would be an appropriate time to raise the issue—or any issue at all.

Soon after he had witnessed their once infallible relationship stall, he had started experiencing peculiar body aches and frequent vomiting spells.

Initially, he couldn’t untangle the signals that his body was giving him. He didn’t have the typical symptoms of any former illnesses that he had felt in the past. He attributed it to stress. After all, most days he felt perfectly fine. On a treacherous Tuesday, a sickening sensation that simulated barbed wire dragging across raw flesh struck his uterus. His mind instantaneously flashed to Eren and their unprotected sexual encounters.

He closed his eyes and heaved into the toilet. He believed he had determined the affliction that his body had been enduring for the past few months.

Later, after he finished his shift, he rushed off on base at 5, telling Eren some white lie to hold as he obtained as many clear blue pregnancy tests they offered at the local pharmacy.

Positive. 5 times.

He exploded into a wild frenzy whilst Eren set out on an adventure for a midnight snack. Hardly believing it, he made a doctor’s appointment the next morning, where it was confirmed for the 6th time that he was indeed pregnant.

After they conducted an ultrasound and a full examination, the doctor informed him that his baby was healthy and that he was a little over 16 weeks along. Conceding that he just wasn’t getting fat—he nearly fainted at his new reality. The gynecologist asked him if he wanted to know the sex of the baby. He hesitated, gripping his sonogram picture, wondering if he truly wanted to be surprised. Biting his lip, he caved to his adamant curiosity. She smiled, informing Armin that the baby growing in his belly was a little girl.

Flabbergasted, he felt a faint smile rise on his lips…

A girl.

His little girl.

Their little girl.

Since the visit, he had been juggling between properly concealing his increasingly noticeable pregnancy, deciding whether to accept the support services that the doctor had offered after the appointment, and telling the father of the baby.

Feeling like he was being yanked in all directions, he hesitated for a total of 12 days. 

They had pledged allegiance to the United States of America that they would protect their right to be Americans. They had sacrificed and dedicated their time, their energy, and their lives to that central goal. And here he was, striving and yearning for an objective that steered him in a whole new direction.

This distinction made him feel like he was engaging in an abhorrent conflict of interest. Yes, he had chosen to live his life underneath the American flag. And yes, he would love to have a family again since his parents passed away when he was a teenager. He was so tempted to prioritize his job and weed out the essence of love and morality but… somehow his usual pragmatic thinking was trounced by the newfound love he had for his baby daughter.

He understood that he was an incremental and integral part of their team that continually averted terrorist attacks from becoming otherwise disastrous. But he also acknowledged that he thirsted for the felicity that a brand new blood connection would bring him. Tiny hands, soft breaths, sweet smiles, hiccups burps, chortles.

He was so torn…

He knew this wasn’t a decision he could make alone.

He needed a second input. Guidance.

He needed Eren. 

Tonight, after 12 dreaded days since he had confirmed with 5 home pregnancy tests and a doctor’s examination, he was going to tell Eren that he was in fact pregnant. Not because he was giving him an ultimatum, but mainly because he wanted to have full disclosure… Because he was his best friend and he deserved the truth.

Maybe after he told him… Maybe, just maybe. He could offhandedly suggest that they could resemble a traditional family… or something akin to it. But he would offer nothing more binding than a light suggestion because he was Armin… and he would respect if Eren did not want to proceed with the romantic dynamic of their relationship.

All he really wanted… He just wanted Eren to know.

That he craved chocolate. And that his spine ached. And that he had an A-grade headache that was making him dizzy. But most of all, that they had made a little person and that this little person was special because they shared this little person—much like everything else in life. And that he thought that it was just beautiful…

And… he just… he just wanted him to know.

Although he had internally been harping on telling Eren, he wasn’t the first person he had told of his pregnancy. 2 days ago, he had personally informed Hanji, his commander and the Deputy Director of the FBI. He didn’t want to be swinging from ropes, dangling from fast-moving helicopters while he was with child. It wasn’t safe. Besides, he was often physically incapacitated by the early stages of pregnancy. Vomiting, headaches, body aches, and the _beautiful_ symptom of fatigue. He just was not currently equipped to handle daring scenario training.

‘Can I just be assigned to some desk duties until I decide what to do…?’ She easily agreed—so he took it a step further.

‘Can we keep it just between us for the time being?’ Grinning, she stammered, immediately complying with his small condition. He knew with her his secret was absolutely safe.

He didn’t know if he would quit being a sniper and move to another FBI headquarters so he could raise his baby. Or if he would take maternity leave and return.

“Babies! Babies! Babies! My babies having babies!” She cried out in the office, tears streaming from her eyes. Armin awkwardly laughed. He had never expected his commander to be so emotional; or even see them as pseudo kids. Albeit startling, he still found the reaction disturbingly uplifting.

He felt that he should have been telling her the news with Eren in tow… But that feeling quickly dissipated. He was independent and he did not need Eren to hold his hand. He just _wanted_ him to.

Moreover, this way, it was for the best. He could tell Eren tonight without worriment of the fallout. They would finally have extended privacy.

Back at the Quantico base, they shared a room with walls that might as well been crafted with paper machete.

He had been friends with Eren since they were 8, and he was aware of how unpredictable the man could be. Depending how he managed to deliver the news of his pregnancy, the paper-thin walls might have been an issue. Eren could have reacted rashly and completely flew off the handle or he could have been completely nurturing and excited. Honestly, he didn’t want to take the gamble.

With the American Agent banquet that invited many of from the DEA, SWAT, and HRT from all over the country, using the opportunity to introduce themselves to the veteran agents and get acquainted of other agencies before they distributed accolades, was his best chance for him to get Eren alone.

He was posted outside of the building—waiting. His blue eyes glanced ahead and he couldn’t help but admire the building structure. Unsurprisingly, the hall they obtained for the event was an incomparable piece of architecture. With a fully granite exterior and impressive, and carefully paved marble, cobblestone parking area, and frameless, luminous glass doors, it could have been easily mistaken for a modern day palace.

Fully bulletproof Chevrolet and Dodge SVUs were pulling into the palatial drive area, housing agents that were dressed head to toe in exquisite attire. Armin was thinking how nicely his comrades could shell out for a formal event considering they often were covered in sweat, mud, and garbed in unflattering combat clothing. Guess that they decided that this was a chance to feel like a civilian again even if it was only for one night.

Again, it was now or never.

He heard a car door beside the sidewalk slam. Eren had just arrived. He had initially stayed behind at the Quantico base to finish up some paperwork from their last rescue mission. Armin had offered to stay behind to keep him company but he stubbornly declined. Eren insisted that he get ready and go without him. As he stood beside Eren’s desk awkwardly, he felt the windy road of distance elongating between them as Eren persistently shuffled through his papers without even glancing up at him. He had bit back the lump rising in his throat and squeezed out an, “O _kay_ …”

He felt the gale of the hasty wind sling his glossy hair against his scalding cheeks. He felt tense—on pins and needles—as he snuggled into the cage of the Armani tuxedo he was tucked into. He shakily adjusted his cufflinks and tightened his tie.

He made the consorted effort to unite his conflicted mind and his traitorous body to approach the towering; striking man that made looking so good, look so effortless. His naturally bronzed skin, the tousled black hair framing his soft boyish face, highlighted his strong, chiseled jaw. Upon arriving, he was struck by those electric, gray eyes that constantly left him feeling internally dehydrated.

_He loved him so much._

He timidly tugged at the sleeve of Eren’s Tom Ford tuxedo. Feeling the grosgrain fabric between his fingers prompted his memory to recall that last week he assisted Eren in picking out this tux. He had taken the personal liberty of obtaining Eren’s precise measurements so that he could tailor the attire accordingly. Eren had given him a kiss on the cheek and then smiled, voicing his eternal thankfulness.

He painfully smiled, pondering if he had always been destined for such domesticity.

His devotion to Eren was unmatched and he couldn’t see himself ever doing such tasks for anyone but Eren.

He felt his features soften as he managed to unearth a gallant edge while boring straight into those night-kissed gray eyes.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Armin delicately asked.

Eren checked behind him as more of their fellow coworkers pulled into the driveway.

After the swift scope of the area, Eren spotted a black Suburban lingering at the corner of the block that hadn’t been there moments before. The love of his life nodded and they moved to a more secluded spot on the side of the building.

Armin felt the baby sluggishly shift to rest on his left side. Immediately, he squawked, grasping his lower tummy. With Eren ahead of him, he didn’t catch wind of the incident. Armin was thankful for the small reprieve. The last thing he needed to do was _explain_ before he even _explained_.

He felt all of his pent up courage mount and then pitifully dissipate as Eren stood directly in front of him.

“Um, I have something to tell you.” He took in a big breath, interlocking his trembling fingers. He severed the concentrated eye contact with Eren in favor of the solid ground. He resisted the urge to just cop out and try to tell him at another time.

Eren seemed placid enough, hands shoved deep in his pocket. It helped Armin clear the clutter of distraction rattling in his brain.

Without another excuse, he went for the plunge. “I’m—”

“Eren!” Mikasa. His eyes flitted over to her glistening gold crested gown that complimented her tremendous figure. His throat shriveled to the size of a raisin as she neared their position adjacent to the side of the building.

“We’re about to start. Associate deputy director is looking for you.” She called out.

Immediately, they both knew from experience that the associate deputy director of the FBI, Levi Ackerman, hated to be left waiting. He had patience the size of a mustard seed. He would even be as spiteful as to charge Eren with 6 miles of running on the field tomorrow at dawn instead of the regular 3, just for leaving him waiting a moment longer than his liking.

“ _Wait_ —” Armin automatically pleaded, taking a step forward.

“You can tell me later, Armin.” Eren grasped Armin’s forearm tenderly, leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, a faint smile etching onto his pastel pink lips. Armin terminated his efforts and lowered his head.

He half-heartedly returned a smile. “Yeah, _later_ …”

He somberly remembered the days when Eren would push the envelope and risk punishment, just to be with him… Now, he just obediently followed with not as so much without a backward glance. Always _later_ … But “later” _never_ came.

Eren pulled away and Armin felt so cold.

“Later…” Armin mouthed to himself quietly. Yeah, he could tell him later…

They entered the building unceremoniously. Eren strode up to Levi, unannounced, but making a lasting impression by remaining starkly in-character by still calling Levi “sir.”

Armin’s feet became embedded in the ground. “Are you coming?” Mikasa asked, concerned.

Armin waved his hand with an emotionally turbulent smile. “No, I’ll just… stay here.”

She seemed uncertain but he reassured her with his false mask of contentment. He turned away, hearing her Steven Madden shoes quickly click on the well-tended floor, joining Eren’s side.

Armin remained close to the entrance, his reaction to the intricate and splendid decorations dulled by the snub he received from Eren. Undoubtedly, he was hurt. His soul was probably sorer than the bottom of his swollen feet.

His gaze glazed over all the done-up agents that he didn’t have a desire to associate with, to the alcohol that was dutifully being served from the bar in the corner of the room.

Which reminded him that he was not allowed to drink. Because…

He grasped his slightly rounded stomach affectionately.

He glanced over to Eren again. He was standing in front of Levi in his tall, fit, unabashed glory. He gushed at Levi—most likely because they were discussing the harrowing rescue they had made during their last mission. Levi had been meaning to praise Eren for the maturity and poise he exhibited compared to other rescue missions that they had conducted in the past. He was certainly improving. However, Eren was still an area of concern in comparison to the rest of the team. Regardless, he wanted to commend him while ink that outlined the nuances of their success was still wet.

It was blindingly obvious that Eren was slated to replace Levi in the ranks when the opportunity made itself available. And while Eren may not have realized it, he would be more than ready to assume such responsibility.

Armin felt tears prickle his eyes. There was no question that Eren would not have time or the energy to assume responsibility for a family. Or him for that matter. 

He vision lowered to his feet once again.

Maybe… he should just get an abortion and save them both the trouble.

At this point, he would only have to explain to Hanji and he was pretty sure that she wouldn’t linger on the issue. She was not particularly insensitive about privacy and he was thankful for that.

Eren sipped a little on the champagne that was offered by a kind, blonde waitress.

“ _I’m just glad that I’m finally fulfilling my life’s mission_.” He heard Eren say among the twitters of conversation in the ballroom.

The little courage he formerly had to tell Eren had inevitably been diffused and his excitement had steadily been dispelled.

That was just it. Eren’s goals and aspirations didn’t involve having a family or “settling down.” At 27, Eren was extremely dedicated to his career and there wasn’t any room in his life for him.

And Armin felt incredibly selfish asking him to choose…

Feeling his inner core shake, he took one last faithful look at the glamorous entrance.

Thankfully, he had driven himself here. He could go home at his own accord. He couldn’t imagine himself staying at this function longer than an hour. He felt the burn of oncoming tears penetrating his eye sockets. It was probably best policy if he cried himself to sleep in his own company, before Eren arrived back.

He sniffled, roughly rubbing his nose.

Later, he would decide what would be best for him and his baby because, right now, he was at a loss. 

“Where’s Erwin?” Eren asked, swirling his champagne in the glass. “Is he not coming tonight?” 

Levi openly scoffed. “Fuck him.” He spitefully growled in a low, dangerous voice. He then proceeded to sip at the finely aged wine, all the while avoiding eye contact with Eren and Mikasa.

Eren’s eyes widened. “Uh.”

“That fucker only cares about himself.”

Eren nervously swished his champagne in his mouth. He was not sure about the relationship that existed between Levi and the FBI director, Erwin Smith, but he from what the little that he did know; he would say their affiliation was rather complicated. He could not be certain what caused this riff, but in order for Levi to voice his hostility about his higher up—there must have been an astronomical issue.

Eren didn’t plan to dwell on it too much. He was sure that he and Erwin would mull everything over and make it better—maybe even better than before. They always did.

Sighing, he took a gander outside of the plexiglass windows. It was nearing 9 ‘o clock and the star studded sky shimmered over the vicinity, not a cloud marring the horizon. All the agents that were slated to arrive did. Sans Erwin Smith.

He mentally shrugged it off as his line of vision came into contact with those ominous vehicles with tinted window. Presuming something odious, he turned to Mikasa, seeking her opinion so he could validate his predictions.

Unexpectedly, a large, swift burst exploded from the front entrance. Glass shot about the room garnering immediate alarm. Shortly thereafter, a loud barrage of claps and furor burst in the doorjamb. Armin spun around to the commotion. Screams resounded off of the hollow ceiling structure.

Armin’s brain methodically registered that the deafening booms were bullets. Temporarily, a blur of black was the only thing discernible in the haze in his vision. A piercing jolt quaked in his abdomen and he reached lower to touch the source of his abrupt but wild discomfort. When his hands retreated, a fresh layer of hot blood coated his fingers.

Muffled gasps hit his ears as his knees buckled beneath him.

A group of five masked men dressed in black militant attire, entered the room with high-powered, artillery hand held weapons. They made hushed movements about the room until they had about all star points covered, successfully surrounding the agents, leaving them with less of an opportunity to escape or counter their formation.

When a stray bullet grazed Eren’s arm, Mikasa instantaneously tackled Eren to the ground and covered his body with her own. She had to protect Eren, especially before he was hit with another stray bullet.

As his shoulder took a tough tumble to the ground—he actively tried to wrestle out of Mikasa’s brutal grip. Despite the circumstances, he was not able to. She firmly pinned him in place so that the attackers could not make him a target.

Did she not understand that he had to get to Armin?! 

Armin dropped to the floor immediately, cradling the wounds from the two bullets that had pierced his center, his skull hitting hard stone. He looked at the culprits, fear vibrating in his eyes. Blood gushed from his middle as masked individuals raised a high-powered rifle to his head.

Horror flooded his chest cavity and he yelled the only thing that was occupied his mind for the last twelve days.

“PLEASE DON’T KILL ME! I’M PREGNANT!”

The room fell completely silent as Armin waggled helplessly in pain, his sobs echoing throughout the hollow walls.

He felt the strict strain of his muscles and the pain welling in his pelvis. Minor contractions attacked his frame as the pain became keener. He discontinued writhing momentarily as he brain simmered with the dread of looming death. His tear ducts burned as his hands fervently tried to apply pressure to the wounds. “P-please… Pl-please…” He hoarsely cried. “I-I’m _begging_ y-you.”

The testimony registered with the seven gunmen as it fleetingly stunted their apparent reign of terror. The shooter hesitated, lowering his gun, focusing on barking orders at the crowd. “Everybody get down! And stay down!”

 Eren was paralyzed, his eyes pinned on Armin as he gasped for air and reeled in pain. A sharp cry bit the chilled air. 

All the training that they underwent still didn’t prepare Eren for seeing the person that he loved more than anything in this world on the receiving end of a violent act—bleeding and begging for mercy from cold-blooded monsters.

Barely coherent, half of Eren’s brain tried to recognize the threat and calculate how to neutralize them. Who were these masked men and what was their political agenda? How would they benefit by attacking a mass gathering of US Law Enforcement agents? 

For the moment, he knew that his tactical training was not his first priority. Armin was.

Eren ferociously elbowed Mikasa in the ribs and shoved her off of him. He scurried to Armin’s side, his heart pumping, raging in his chest. Eren haphazardly removed his black grosgrain blazer and draped it over Armin’s midsection.

Armin was pregnant with his child and he was trying to tell him… he didn’t take the time to listen… And now he was here bleeding out…

Two enormous hacks caused blood to spew from Armin’s esophagus and into his mouth. The bright red liquid stained his once pristine mouth as he rustled, agony riddling into the marrow of his bones. 

Eren pressed with all his might on Armin’s open wounds as an improvised tourniquet.

He nearly had forgotten his 80 hours of medical training he had aced. Because it was Armin—not a well devised scenario. He pushed Armin’s knees up to help pool the bleeding in his abdomen. He couldn’t stop the bleeding and that meant that he was unable to perform CPR… Because he would just cause further damage and expedite the internal bleeding… He knew he had little resources to stabilize Armin’s condition. The only thing that would help is Armin getting immediate medical attention. 

“E _ren_ ,” Armin’s wavering whimper was met with labored breath. Tears gathered at the corner of his baby blue eyes. “I’m _s-scared_.” He said with the most conviction Eren had ever heard color his voice.

Suddenly, he was assaulted with a barrage of memories—Armin coddling him against his chest, humming to him after his mother died from cancer. Armin’s effervescent giggle as he submerged his toes in the icy ocean waters for the first time. When Armin lightly exhaled as Eren ghosted his lips over his sensitive inner thigh.

An imprisoned sob escaped the cell of Eren’s chest.

“E-Eren… I’m sorry I d-didn’t tell you s-sooner. I’m s-sorry...” Armin could feel the tension rise in his abdomen and his muscles contract mercilessly, blood began to increasingly overflow his shaky fingers. He winced as he felt the pain crescendo.

“A-Armin save your energy… You can tell me _later_ …”

Armin sobbed, feeling a new flash of pain strike his stomach and pipeline straight to his heart. “There’s n-not gonna be a next t-time, Eren…” He felt his eyelids become weighted and his breathing gradually decelerated.

All he wanted to do now was feel Eren underneath his fingertips one last time. Just one last time. He reached his bloody hand up and stroked Eren’s right cheek, marveling at how perfect his best friend was. He felt a renewed brand of sorrow arise as the blood from his fingers smeared across Eren’s cheekbones.

He felt his throat clench as his eyes produced a fresh bundle of tears.

Eren rushed to renew Armin’s faith in life—give him resolve to fight. Even if he sounded tentative. “No, Armin, don’t say that. Don’t say that, you’re g-gonna be okay.”

Armin coughed up more blood, still sustaining eye contact with his one true love.

For the first time, he couldn’t decipher if Eren genially believed what he was saying or he was just trying to calm him before his imminent fate. “You just have to hang on, ok?” Eren’s unsteadily whispered with pure confidence. Armin was convinced that he might have firmly been entering a stage of denial.

Armin nodded, feeling tears stream on the sides of his face, a sharp ache tingling in his middle. Eren temporarily removed his hand away from the gunshot and tenderly captured Armin’s hand and pressed his lips to the trembling, bloody digits.

Armin sobbed harder…

There was so much left unsaid. So many things he hadn’t done.

Eren shoved harder on his stomach and it staunched the bleeding and slightly lessened the pain.

Armin wasn’t shot low in his torso so Eren assumed that his uterus was unscathed by the bullets. Maybe, they could both survive.

“Stay with me, Armin…” He looked up from Armin’s wounds and called behind him, “Someone call 9-11!”

Armin… Their baby…

A clank of heavy machinery resounded followed by a roar. “No _one_ is calling _anyone_!”

The ringleader threw an empty sack to the floor. “Everyone put their devices in here.” 

One of the silent henchmen collected the bag and sauntered around the circularly designed room and shoved the bag into the faces of all the helpless, unarmed agents. They complied reluctantly, throwing their phones and various communication devices into the bag.

They all looked on in horror as Eren tried to keep Armin alive although they all knew that his efforts were all futile. Levi swallowed hard, for once in his life feeling absolutely powerless. Mikasa suffered from her inadequacies as well. Her hair had come undone and her dress had ripped as she kneeled in the mass of agents. None of it compared to the tears streaming down her hot cheeks.

Her heart pumped harder and she breathed, “ _Armin_.” 

Eren could not even begin to emote the amount of anger that he felt boiling to the surface. 

“You asshole!” He screamed at the top of his lungs as his vocal cords shredded.   

He ignored Eren’s cries and barked order in lieu of the shrouding despondency of all the agents. “Everyone move into the back dining room!”

Eren quivered with alarm, his eyes widening. He felt Armin tense underneath his fingers and his ribs expand and contract violently. His eyes trailed to the lead hostage taker.

“Armin, calm down. I’m not gonna leave you, okay?” Eren assured him, pressing down firmly pushing down on the open wounds. Armin’s body became wracked with the preliminary chills of loneliness.

As the mass of agents trudged to the room, including Mikasa, Eren remained behind with Armin. “Everyone! You too fucker!” 

Eren felt the icy steel of the AK press to his throat.

Relentless, Eren growled, nearly lunging forward. “Fuck you! I’m not leaving him!”

The shooter gritted his teeth at the boisterous retaliation. “So you want to join him!? Cause you can fucking die too!”

“Eren!” Mikasa hollered urgently.

A dangerous commotion settled and the guests all moved to occupy the ballroom in the corridor behind them. Several gunmen jammed their high-powered weapon into the backs of the agents, urging them along.

Armin felt his head thud in anguish. A flurry of heavy exchanges flew between the gunman and Eren blurred his cognition. Armin felt a surge of urgency shroud his body as the gunman increasingly lost his patience. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead as he finally registered the taste of copper and iron peppering his tongue. The last thing he wanted was for Eren to get injured or killed trying to be by his side.

“EREN! GO!” Armin shouted, his muscles still wildly contracting.

Silence befell the bickering men.

Eren stared at Armin’s beautiful cornflower blue eyes as tears plastered his face.

“ _Please_ …” Armin murmured. 

“But Armin, I can’t—I—” Eren’s eyes welled up with fresh salty tears, his blood running cold like a wintry waterfall. His nose began to run and he felt the hairs on his body stand directly on edge.

“E-ren… I need… you… to stay safe, f-for me. _Promise_.” Armin felt the pain culminating—his words becoming leaden with fragility.

Eren froze like an ice cap in the artic, shell-shocked, finding himself unable to respond.

“ _Promise_ ** _me_**.” Armin reiterated through clenched, bloody teeth, urging—no, demanding—that Eren do this.

Make this last promise.

“I-I promise.” Eren nose wrinkled as he accomplished squeezing the words out of his throat.

Armin discovered the strength to push past a grimace and form a fond smile that did not reflect a twinge of pain. “Now g-go.”

Eren dislodged his hand bloody hands from Armin’s wound. For the first time, he realized that his hands were absolutely coated with the deep, crimson liquid. He moved with delayed motion and eyed the red stains with deep contempt as his lip quivered involuntarily. He apprehensively sat on his haunches and made a failed attempt to stand. Instantly, he charged himself with betraying Armin’s promise. He forced his limps to obey this mandatory command. Mechanically, he came to his feet.

Inhaling the image at his feet, the pool of blood, the resigned expression on Armin’s face…

“Eren…” Armin gulped, feeling more blood steadily stream from the entrance of his wound.

“T-thank you f-for being m-y friend and t-thank you for never l-leaving m-my side. I-I love you…” Armin whispered, ambling for Eren with his left hand, feeling his chest lurching as he gasped for air. Eren brushed Armin’s shuddering fingers, finding that Armin’s disguised fear had indeed become completely expunged. He was only awaiting the grim reaper’s scythe now.

“I _love_ you—” Eren’s throat swelled with grief. “I love you **_too_** ,” He whispered; regret rushing in like high tide. 

All the time he had to make Armin happy and he squandered it. He had so many opportunities to properly appreciate Armin and all his magnificence. He loved him so much and now—

Mikasa snatched Eren by the shoulder and dragged him toward the north end of the building.

Armin positioned his head back on the cold floor, uselessly pulling his sluggish arm back to his wounds.

The leading henchman directed the gun back to Armin’s head.

Armin closed his eyes and sighed with inevitably.

‘ _Goodbye, Eren._ ’

“ARMIN!” Eren screamed.

And a gunshot thundered against his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you thought, please! Thanks.
> 
> Need anything? Strike up a line at http://n-k-y.tumblr.com/
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> Besos.


	2. Strain

“ARMIN! ARMIN!” Eren tussled, trying to bypass Mikasa but she was like a steel beam. “Get out of my way, I have to—”

“EREN!” She desperately chided, her dark eyes colliding with gray ones. “There’s **nothing** you can do.”

And then, when Mikasa, the naturally talented and committed agent of the HRT reminded him that he was only human—a being with limited capabilities and imperfect certitude—was the exact moment when he truly felt powerless. He caved—crashing to his knees.

“BUT I-I was s-supposed to protect him. I-I promised myself… H-he and I… We were… I fa-f-failed him…”

Mikasa sunk to the 19th century Victorian Era rug along with Eren. Beside the entrance of the dining room, she pulled him into a strong embrace, resting her chin on his head. “I know, Eren. Oh god I know.” Tears firmly arrested her as her stomach flopped with sorrow.

“Armin, I-I’m s-so sorry.” He sobbed, feeling all his ghosts resurrect from whence they came. The penitence of copper slayed his nostrils. He was then suddenly attacked by the phantom caress of Armin’s tender fingers on his cheek.

He wailed like a wounded animal and Mikasa cringed. She had never seen Eren become undone—even when his mother died. Given the situation was abrupt, she was still unsure how to go about consoling him because she couldn’t tell him that everything was going to be okay… Because it wasn’t okay. And it might never be okay again.

As all the others trickled in, Eren rolled off to the side, shrinking against the wall.

Mikasa studied Eren as he desperately mourned the loss of Armin. She wanted to help Eren in any way she could but… she couldn’t bring Armin back…

Eren wedged his fingers into his hair, his red-rimmed eyes sore from being prodded with hot, salty tears. He would gladly sacrifice anything he owned to turn back time and have Armin safe in his arms—tell him how much he planned to love and cherish him for the rest of their existence. For better or worse.

_‘I’m sorry, Armin… Please forgive me.’_

All he had left now, was his memory.

The bullet pierced the hard floor beside Armin’s head. He flinched with closed eyes—realizing that he was not suffering from an additional wound. He… wasn’t dead.

A jerk of the gunman’s arm caused his marksmanship to fail. He turned and glared at his peer for their interference.

“Hey, don’t focus on that now. I don’t think you even need to finish him. You pretty much did him in already.” The secondary henchman shot Armin a pitiful glance that fringed on sympathetic.

Armin grasped at his grave wounds, fathoming that he was meant to be an example for their potential targets. Still, he was miffed as to why they decided not to make him a fatal case. What was their objective anyway? Did killing him disrupt their mission?

As he opened his eyes, he witnessed the boots of the leader walk away from his person.

“I’ll stay here. Go to the dining room.” He heard an unidentified voice say dutifully.

Armin’s brainwaves were spiraling and his vision was whirling like an intense tornado. All the fixtures in the room became hazy like smeared primary color paint on a canvas board. His limbs compounded with another level of feebleness. Still, he felt like all the physical pain trampling him was inconsequential to all the emotional turmoil that had sent his mind reeling. The last encounter he had with Eren might have been his last. And he couldn’t have been more dissatisfied with that fact.

They wordlessly expressed their love for one another for all to see—with complete candor. The way Eren sprinted to his side, kissed his hand, and tried to tend to his wounds. And the last departing touch he had given Eren’s cheek… Temporarily holding his hand…

Long ago, he had already admitted to himself that he didn’t want to be separated from Eren due to any circumstance, especially not a gravestone. He was a glutton and he wanted to spend every kindling moment with Eren—breathing in his scent, caressing his hair, listening to his troubles, kissing his lips…

He felt another sea of mayhem pull him under. How was Eren doing? Was he okay?

Lastly, he wondered, was Eren thinking about him too?

 They were the Hostage Rescue Team, an FBI organization ranked a hair below the American Military—the strongest, best-trained military on the globe. As a unit, the HRT were the most equipped, the most capable unit of the FBI, even more resilient than the CIA—or any unit on Earth—to combat terrorism and demonstrate counter terrorism methods. They had the ability to deploy anywhere in the US within 4 hours. They could procedurally operate in any terrain—the tundra, plains, the ocean—and optimally complete the mission, no holds barred. They were more efficient than the NSA, the DEA, and US Marshalls combined. Yet, they were trapped in the ironic twist of fate that enabled them to be the ones taken hostage.

Eren was flabbergasted.

They were caught in an inflexible moment. A terrorist organization had taken advantage of their perceived vulnerability. The one night the team hung up their sniper rifles in exchange for champagne flutes, No equipment, no technology, no proper intelligence on these attackers or their organization.

Again, he seeded his hands into his mess of ebony hair, the memory of pleasurable disbelief swimming in Armin’s eyes when he had told him that he loved him. It was playing in his continually on an infinite loop—like he was chained to a theater chair destined to witness the event repeatedly on a grainy grayscale screen. He croaked with the ruefulness of guilt.

Armin was dead.

And his baby was too.

And it was because he couldn’t save them.

To an extent, he was certainly culpable in this disaster.

If he had taken the time to listen to Armin, enjoy his company, openly reciprocated all of Armin’s feelings—every time that he wanted to spend time with him, every time he was affectionate with him, every time that he just wanted to converse. Instead, he cowered away from entering into a binary relationship with him. 

In a matter of minutes, he had lost everything that he had ever cared about. Because of his spinelessness, he had forfeited the opportunity to enrich his lackluster life.

What was he supposed to do?

How was he supposed to go on for here?

He didn’t even want to.

Armin was what made life worth living. And he was no longer here.

Unsurprisingly, he wanted to join Armin. Maybe in the afterlife they could finally be together the way Armin always wanted to be.

Yet, he had made Armin a promise that he would stay safe… and live on.

He was at an impasse—a cross road—because he didn’t have an ounce of desire to keep his promise.

Armin eyes shifted to the locked entrance. He heard footsteps shuffle to the large window that was out of sight. He adjusted his position on his aching shoulder blades. A sharp clack of metal whipped him back into reality.

He was not alone.

It had been all about 17 minutes since he had been shot. It was obvious that none of the agents had been able to make a distress call to headquarters and probably hadn’t even been able get a 911 call out to the local police. These rouge criminals probably had all exits secured, all their t’s crossed and their i’s dotted. They had planned this methodically.

He had never experienced shock but he recognized the range of symptoms. He was entering the preliminary stages of circulatory shock. He became light headed and dizzy. His skin became pasty, his once sharply pressed suit, clinging to his fragile frame. His flesh transitioned from a healthy peach tone into an insipid white one. His palms were clammy and trembling uncontrollably. He did a poor job of compressing his wounds especially because of the strong, constant urge to succumb to a surge of looming fatigue. But he knew he couldn’t fall asleep. If he did, it wasn’t almost guaranteed he would never wake.

“Can I die in peace? It’s not like I’m going to run anywhere.” The stress threaded in his tone did not even resemble his own voice. He sounded more like an aggressive, caged animal.

“Can’t take the chance…” He heard the unidentified man say with absolute gusto, voice a booming echo.

Armin bit his lip—a visage ripple of pain crippling him further. A dagger of misery punctured his chest as he reminisced about earlier, when he tried to tell Eren about their daughter. The excitement. The fear. The unknown.

“Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life…”

He focused on inhaling. “I was going to tell my childhood friend that I’m madly in love with him and that we were going to be parents and that … That we could be a family.” He whimpered and then grittily exhaled.

“Now, it’s never going to happen… because…” His eyes fluttered closed. “I’m going to die here.”

The henchman shuffled on the window seal, tossing his gun sling around, feeling the nips of guilt shred his soul. “Well, Riccardi had a family too. You all still killed him.”

Armin mouth’s twitched with puzzlement. “Riccardi? Nicolo Riccardi? The racketeer?”

“Yes! We’re going to avenge him. He was a like a brother to us. He didn’t deserve to die! You guys are gonna pardon his name!”

Armin distinctly remembered the case.

Hanji briefed them before they entered the field. They were advised to apprehend Riccardi alive but understood that if he became unenviably hostile, they were authorized to take him out.

Erwin was on the scene, covering Rico’s position as lead hostage negotiator. Outside the warehouse, off the Tampa shore, where Riccardi had been holding a few local civilians along with girls that had been victims of his brutal human trafficking ring, Erwin tried to offer him wonderful ultimatums—let the children go and they would vouch on his behalf for a sentence reduction.

He refused, actively seeking a flight out of the country in exchange for the children.

After 8 hours, the standoff continued inside the warehouse. He raged beside his pile of unregistered guns. It was completely unsafe for anyone to even attempt an escape from the situation.

After the sniper unit witnessed him lunge at a victim that had been wounded by a fall she had taken from a moving vehicle earlier on, _ironically_ , it had been Eren who had secured the shot.

From the deck, with expert precision, he obliterated Riccardi’s t-zone, instantly eliminating him as an active threat.

The FBI then adhered to routine protocol and recovered the hostages, moving them to safety. HRT then proceeded to inspect every crevice to ensure that there were not other gunmen that lay in wait. After they confirmed the area to be secure, they worked closely with the FBI counterterrorism department to uncover all the information they could about the suspects involved.

According to the hostages, a few unidentified men that were linked to the scene had escaped prior to the FBI arriving to apprehend them. Somehow, they weren’t able to obtain clear profiles of the men or identify them…

Armin’s eyes widened…

And these must have been the men that they young girls were referring to.

Armin licked his parched lips.

These next few moments were crucial to his survival and his team… He had to convince him that his ideology about the situation was flawed. One wrong word and he could end up dead.

“What if you were in our shoes? And you were a public servant, with the sworn duty to ensure that all citizens feel safe and then you have someone who comes along that threatens to disturb that right?”

 The hitman remained silent, most likely mulling over the exchange in his head.

 “You would neutralize the threat… Especially if they refused to give themselves up…” Armin exhaled carefully, opening his eyes only to close them again.

 “He was important to you but in that moment, he was an active criminal that had been costing lives and causing panic… It was either him or us…”

"Armin, is... What am I supposed to do without him? I don't think that I'm gonna be able to—" Eren’s vocal box caved behind his collar bone. His voice cracked and his shoulders quaked with sobs. A hot river of tears stormed onto his cheeks. He was the lone commotion in the room as a mist of torment rushing into the air.

All the agents were scattered on the floor around the large dining table. The elaborate gold plated chandelier that dangled over their heads was stylized to match the charcoal and the corresponding gold lining on the wallpaper. Such a beautiful room degraded to a crate for their forthcoming demise.

They all wordlessly looked on as Eren—one of their most reliable and respectable operatives—deteriorated before them.

He stared at the blood blemishing his once clean hands and became even more disgruntled.

Historia, a small blonde that belonged to the HRT, welled up with tears. They overflowed the instant that she looked at Jean who had lost all sensibilities long ago. He appeared numb and shaken—every conviction he ever had eviscerated into nothingness. Although he and Eren did not often see eye to eye, he truly sympathized with Eren. If he lost his co-pilot, Marco Bodt in a similar fashion, he was beyond positive that he would be as equally inconsolable. Watching Eren fall apart made him realize that he and Eren had more commonalities than he initially thought.

 Comfortable against Historia, Ymir crossed her arms, insensitively tossing her head back.

“Why are we sad again? He was the weakest one out of all of us anyway.” She rolled her eyes with a visible sneer.

In a flash, Eren’s fist viciously connected with Ymir’s jaw. The strike rang out in the room, acquiring a few gasps. Eren dove to the floor, Ymir in tow. Slamming her shoulder blades against the glazed wooden planks, attempting to slug his colleague once more. Jean intercepted his fists as Mikasa hooked his waist and hoisted him off Ymir.

If they did not keep Eren contained, he was going to piledrive Ymir into the ground.

“I’ll kill you, you _stupid_ bitch!” Eren screamed over Mikasa’s shoulder.

Eren tasseled with Mikasa, trying to break free so he could fulfill his threat. She hissed, refusing to break the hold. His dress shirt constricted his movement but he was still able to assert the strength of a man that was a staggering 6’4”.

“Stop it!” Historia yelled fiercely.

Ymir dabbed the blood dripping down her chin. Her head pounded from the sheer force of the hit. "Are you going to continue to cry over that weakling?"

Mikasa swiftly elbowed Ymir in the nose. "Shut the fuck up! You may not have not liked Armin but you will have some goddamn respect and not speak ill of him."

Eren’s movement became confined after he realized Mikasa referred to Armin in the past tense.

A shot rang out, blowing a hole in the vaulted ceiling.

The lead hostage taker menacingly yelled, "Stop it or I'll kill you all!"

Like a pause button, their progression stopped on the account of the peril.

Eren shriveled back to the wall, defeated. All this fighting and protest wouldn’t bring Armin back.

He was given chance after chance to develop the feelings he knew he had for Armin but he only suppressed them. At times, he would prioritize other things over spending time with Armin—many of the instances occurring recently while he was pregnant.

He had no idea how far along Armin was but what he did know was that Armin had a rush of hormones and endorphins and he was probably feeling more affectionate and just wanted to be even closer to him. But, foolishly, he kept Armin further than arm’s length as he tightly grappled onto the notion that Armin was only entertaining him out of pity. Feeling the pressure—he tried to prevent the possibility that he would fall more deeply and hopelessly in love with him. He pushed him away needlessly every chance he could.

And Armin never once complained, never protested, he only spent the last few months trying to retain his attention. He could only mold over all the times that he failed to be the man he could have for Armin.

_Armin had been sick the day prior, suffering from severe stomach pains. Eren had tried to soothe him with circular rubs on his lower stomach and made him some peppermint tea but nothing really seemed to make the symptoms dwindle. Thankfully, today he was much perkier._

_Today, they were assigned individual tasks on base that they often called “housekeeping.” Armin had decided to take a small break from his duties._

_He then took the time to find Eren._

_Eren had been running diagnostics on the aviation machines for the pilots. Armin removed his gloves, tucked them under his arm and then gingerly approached Eren. Eren paused and then gave Armin his undivided attention. Armin brushed his hair out of his eyes as he slightly adjusted the small bun propped atop his head. When their eyes met, Armin visibly oozed with admiration, his stunning ultramarine eyes glowing with enamor. His full pink lips upturned in a soul-shattering smile. A smile that could make flowers hastily bloom, the sun rise, and the moon glisten. Eren couldn’t help but shiver at how lovely Armin was… He felt so inadequate to be the object of his affection._

_Armin cleared his throat and stood beside him. “Hey I was uh, thinking… Maybe around 6, we could try dinner at that Italian place that we saw two weeks ago.”_

_Eren wondered if this was Armin’s poor attempt at proposing a date or if he was just trying to platonically “hang out” like they always did._

_He wanted clarity about their relationship but he was much too terrified to ask._

_Eren didn’t quite respond, not exactly receptive to the ambiguous bid to spend time with him._

_Honestly, Eren was peeved. Why did he feel like Armin was disregarding the shift in their relationship?_

_He wiped his hands on a microfiber cloth and broke eye contact with his younger counterpart. After Armin realized that Eren wasn’t accepting the invitation, he tried to goad him further._

_“It seems like it’ll be realllllyyy nice.” Armin beamed brighter than Betelgeuse, reaching forward for an encouraging and hopefully convincing kiss._

_Unconsciously, Eren turned his head away, avoiding the gesture completely. In the next waking second, Eren could practically feel Armin’s heart clench at the rebuff. Glancing back at Armin, he observed how his mouth hung open with shock and how his cheeks had reddened from embarrassment. Before he had a chance to right his wrong, Armin stepped away from him. “ **I’m sorry** ,” He breathlessly whispered, slipping his flame retardant gloves back on. _

_“If you don’t want Italian today—it’s fine. I’ll just grab something else. Probably take out or something.”_

_He could see Armin quivering with trepidation and he was immediately apologetic about what he had done._

_“I’m going to go finish inventory. I’ll, um, see you later.” Armin tried to force a grin but failed miserably._

_“Armin—” Before he could repent, Armin went on his way._

Now, it was much too late to say he was sorry.

His belated realization was not good enough. He could not retroactively share his feelings with Armin.

His insecurities and his wavering confidence had destroyed—annihilated—any chance he had with Armin. If he had accepted the opportunity Armin gave him to express his feelings, he would have discovered quickly that Armin loved him equally, if not more.

_They could have been a family._

But since he hadn’t, he would eternally be trapped confronting the shame of his unwise actions. Having to obey the promise he made to Armin, despite being bound by the fate that the hostage takers had written for them. He owed his life to Armin… even if he wasn’t here. He should try to survive and live on for him. He should try to preserve his memory.

“We want Riccardi officially pardoned by the federal government.”

Head in hands, Eren then raised his hand with a sour expression. “Riccardi? That rapist?” He scoffed. “Fuck no.”

He itched with pleasure as he remembered putting him down like the sick dog he was.

The comment ignited a fury inside the man and resulted in a rash reaction.

Mikasa flinched as he swung his gun in Eren’s direction. “Say another word and I swear—I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

“I don’t give a fuck, prick! Kill me!” Eren bellowed recklessly. “I have nothing left to lose!”

“Eren!” Levi screamed from a corner in the room. “ _Think_ about what the fuck you’re _doing_.” He growled in warning.

He knew that no one had been in contact with outside law enforcement, especially not the FBI. Had they been, they would have swarmed the place by now. They had not officially stated their demands to the government, thus making each of them even more dispensable. If Eren continued to prod them, he would easily get his wish. And then what?

The shooter cocked his AK once more, “If you all don’t make it happen—I’ll kill you all… One… By… one.”

Armin heard the single shot ring out and quailed. “ _Eren_ ,” He cried. He clutched his wounds faithfully through the blazer that Eren had left behind, but with the rush of fear, another surge of blood made its way up.

Within seconds an intense ripple of pain murdered the tranquil in his uterus. The sting sharpened and he felt like a knife was being slowly dragged across his soft tissue. He recognized what was happening.

It was the beginnings of a miscarriage.

“My baby… _Eren_ …” Hot saline tumbled freely from his tear ducts.

The terrorist observed Armin struggle on the ground, trying to ward off the clasps of death. Somehow, he felt that their plan was not panning out as intended. They had shot a mother-to-be for doing what they perceived as ‘morally correct’. He was positive that he wasn’t avenging Riccardi’s name at this point but rather sullying his last dying image.

He had been grateful to Riccardi for saving him from poverty and entrusting him with his personal business ventures. Riccardi cared for him much like a younger brother. For that, he rewarded him with staunch loyalty. He thought that this endeavor would be fruitful. They would avenge Riccardi’s death by forcing the hand of the FBI simply by holding many of their agents hostage. In exchange for all their agents unharmed, they would posthumously pardon Riccardi.

He never imagined that his peer and former colleague planned on killing someone before they had even formerly made their demands.

The conflict of opinion was too deep for them to concur. This young blond here chose to be a servant of the law and he and Riccardi had chosen to be servant to their underground ring of unsavory activities. They were from opposite sides of the track and he guessed that they didn’t have much in common. Their motivations lied in parallel directions. They both had people that they cared about, he, Riccardi, and him that black haired man that bustled to his side. They both had their purposes for what they distinguished as important. One not more important than the other. And this man certainly didn’t deserve to die for having differing priorities…

He stood. He had to fix this.

Armin tried to stabilize his breathing, the huffs becoming more haggard with time. The feeling of fatigue was engulfing him and he was helpless to stop it.

He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. He _had_ to live. He wanted a life. He wanted a life with Eren but death was approaching.

No. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He loved Eren and he loved his baby. He had been so excited to be a mother to a child—not just any child, Eren’s child.

 He realized that many people in his predicament would have given up and died. But he had something to live for. A reason to stay in this world. It was what kept him from conceding to his circumstances.

Maybe, if he kept fighting... Then maybe he would encounter a miracle and someone would save him. It was possible that reinforcements were on their way. Maybe the FBI suspected a disturbance had come across their radar. He was still holding onto hope.

He felt two warm, able arms heave him up from the floor that was caked with his blood. His sweaty neck inched to his left, to see the masked man carrying him bridle style.

Clearing his throat of the chalky balls of coagulated blood, he tried to speak. “W-what are you doing?” He weakly asked.

“The right thing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai. Thank you for reading. I hope you lovies liked. I implore you to ask any comments, questions, concerns. 
> 
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> http://n-k-y.tumblr.com/
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> beijos.


	3. Leverage

Armin’s vision digested the blur of neon lights as muted grays, his clammy forehead resting beside the cool condensation collecting on the SUV window. The rush of humidity emerged through the driver’s side, bum rushing his fatigued features. He only fell victim to the swell of the darkness when he felt himself being lowered into the comforting warmth of human contact.

 

The revving motor of a large vehicle hummed in the foreground of his dream-like state leaving him to wonder if this was really happening. The tires of the vehicle skit on the pavement and made a sharp turn away from the resonating lights that penetrated purpose of his eyelids.

 

His consciousness weaved in and out of a steep vortex. He lightly comprehended what the feminine voices were communicating to one another as the words swimmingly bypassed his ear.

 

“Stretcher! Patient is crashing! WE have to get him to the OR! Trauma to the abdomen!”

 

“Blood transfusion stat!” In a haze, Armin felt like he was perched on a cloud as he was wheeled in a rush down the hospital hallways.

 

“Oxygen!” Another voice urgently shrieked.

 

He felt the pricks of needles infiltrate his wrists as an oxygen mask covered and then encased his mouth. They were intravenously administering drugs to him—most likely fluids.

 

Armin coughed as they dashed sharply around several corners to the Operating Room. “I’m-I’m 18 weeks pregnant… Please,” He pleaded as the lights blurred above him.

 

Armin missed the dismay that detonated across the nurse’s features as he finally relinquished to the baiting unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

“There is insurmountable evidence pointing to Riccardi’s guilt. They will _never_ pardon him,” Levi explained rather unfeelingly. He didn’t think that he needed to elaborate any further. It needed to be understood that their demands and plans would be futile.

 

Yet, they still weren’t surrendering their commitment. 

 

“Even if I blow a hole into all of you by the minute?” The leader asked, recovering a semi-automatic 9-millimeter handgun from his militant style cargo pants.

 

Levi unrelentingly gritted his teeth. Were they really willing to trade such a high death toll for their supposed noble cause? His gray eyes scanned the room observantly. There were more than 300 unarmed agents trapped in this room. There were 3 militant shooters also in the room—all armed with fully automatic AKs, which could easily empty 300 rounds per gun, totaling to about 900 rounds. Adding the 9mm to the mix, with a magazine of 15. If strived for one fatal shot for everyone, their goal would be undeniably feasible.

 

Levi easily concluded that yes, they could make good on their promise.

 

Despite his small verbal tantrum earlier and knowing what he knew now, he wished that Erwin were here to diffuse the abominable situation. The only other person that had the ability to manipulate their plight had been slaughtered.

 

Armin…

 

He pondered what Erwin’s holistic assessment would be if he were able to gain a grip on the crisis. What measurements would he use to cure the ailment? Would he try to rationalize their morals and negotiate with these buffoons? Or would he attempt to brutalize them with brute force? He could not say with absolute certainty. Even though he had spent years alongside the man he could not exactly pontificate what made him tick… Let alone what influenced his thinking patterns. He was a true concoction of mystery, mastery, and intelligence—with Armin following in his footsteps.

 

Armin. Dead. Dead. Although he was expecting.

 

Levi could not wrap his head around it. It was brutal. It was unfair. But most of all it was surreal. Just minutes ago, he saw Armin in decent condition; enter the building, right behind Eren. Now, he was resting with the angels now.

 

Regardless of what Ymir was yapping about earlier, Armin had been the most vital part of their team. His brain had been a formidable asset that was unparalleled. It was more important than any amount of brute strength that any of their teammates could conjure up. He, Erwin, and Hanji were well aware of Armin’s ability which is why they initially promoted him to working closely alongside them.

 

The team was definitely going to suffer in more ways than one now that he was gone.  He wasn’t looking forward to mending the obliteration of their team. Assuming they even lived through this situation at all…

 

Levi fleetingly snapped his head to the sound of the insistent bellowing of the hostage taker’s voice.

 

“You,” He pointed the barrel of his gun to a defiant Eren. “You still have your phone on you. Call your commander!” He smugly commanded. “Erwin Smith, as they call him.

 

In the blink of an eye, Levi felt his skin feel like it was staunched with ice and then doused with flames.

 

Erwin…

 

A sensation that felt like a sharp prickly thorn prickled Levi’s hands as he clenched his fists into tight balls of fury. He furrowed his brow, feebly stammering with anxiety.

 

The first scenario that approached his mind was a strategic ambush on the team that came upon the scene. They had more than enough ammunition to be an imminent threat and possibly fatally harm the incoming agents. Including Erwin. 

 

“Fuck,” He whispered, exercising the word in every conceivable angle possible.

 

Yes, they were fucked, indeed.

 

Levi quickly realized that Eren seemed to be despondent. He wasn’t going to respond rationally to any of their demands. He was an emotional creature that had his equilibrium disturbed. Although it was commonly believed that Eren had an unwavering dedication to this career, it was a complete falsehood. He was only devoted to completing what he constituted justice.

 

Eren boldly maintained eye contact, reaching into his pocket. “You mean this?” Eren pulled out his phone, showcasing his device for the hostage taker to see.

 

He sporadically flung the phone against the wall. The components such as the chasse and the hard drive shattered into pieces.

 

“Fuck you. I’m not calling anyone you dickhead.” Eren’s impudent glare rattled a newfound damage to the plans that the leader had so carefully laid.

 

The terrorist clammed up, staring at what remained of the phone at the foot of the wall.

 

The eye-level dent in the wall was so pronounced that it appeared that a grizzly bear randomly pounded the sheet rock until an absurd depression was left as a result.

 

In that split-second, Eren’s blessed distraction arrived, Eren seized the opportunity.

 

Surprisingly agile for a man in a confining tux, he grappled the hostage taker to his knees. With a thud, the man grunted, tumbling to the ground with his weapon in tow. Eren physically subdued by punching him square in the jaw, incapacitating him. Thereafter, Eren claimed possession of the high-powered rifle. He ensnared the henchman’s neck and chokehold. He invaded the pocket he had seen him retrieve the pistol from. After cocking it, he jammed it to the leader’s head.

 

“Eren!” Levi and Jean yelled in unison.

 

The two other terrorists scrambled to disarm Eren but their fear disabled them. They didn’t want to risk harming their leader. Eren capitalized on their skeptical behavior, pinning them to their own insecurities.

 

“Move and I swear I’ll blow his fucking head off,” Eren snarled, capturing his neck in a better trap, ensuring that he couldn’t escape.

 

The two henchmen quickly aimed the AK-47’s at Eren, sauntering closer ever so slightly.

 

“I just fucking said if you come any closer, I’ll fucking kill him. Are you too fucking too stupid to understand what I just said?!” With crazed eyes, Eren shuttered like an angry hornet, his gaze burning holes in the ones in black.

 

“You… bitch.” The leader said. He firmly held onto Eren’s offending forearm that restricted airflow into his lungs.

 

“Bitch? Only bitches take the lives of innocent people for sport.” Eren flipped the safety on the gun and vindictively fired the gun into this thigh. As the bullet unloaded from the chamber, the man howled in pain. Eren felt a pervasive surge of satisfaction and glee bombard him like a solar star imploding. He suddenly wanted to unload the magazine but oddly demonstrated self-control.

 

“Hurts, doesn’t it, bitch?!”

 

Eren uncaringly jammed the gun back to his head, enjoying the spurts of blood that followed from the awkward positioning.

 

Apparently, Eren’s anger was satanic. _Hell_ , it was probably fueled and cosigned by the devil himself.

 

Levi had personally experienced it himself—now everyone had too.

 

Eren suddenly remembered why he was reacting like this. Armin’s radiant smile flashed before him and then it quickly dissolved.

 

A pang of hurt cast in the back of his mind like a scorching iron as the henchman hopped closer. Eren barred his teeth.

 

“I said stay back or I’ll fucking waste this prick!” He recaptured the leader’s neck for emphasis, earning a cry of help from him. Blood streamed from the gunshot and Levi deduced that Eren might have hit a vital artery in his leg.

 

Eren planned on unleashing all layers of hell on these bastards.

 

"Eren! What the hell are you doing?!" Mikasa snarled, while remaining complacently situated at the door. She insisted on surviving. Both of them, preferably all of them. Did he not remember the promise that he made to Armin? Did that mean nothing to him?

 

She wanted to rescue Eren but she knew at this point, not even Eren could save himself.

 

Annie, a member of the HRT sniper regiment swished uncomfortably in her teal gown. “My god. He’s finally lost his fucking mind.” She gripped onto Bert’s crushed tux.

 

For the record, she and Eren had sparred in the past as a part of their training. He was particularly lethal when it came to hand to hand combat. Although he didn’t want to wound her, she still became incapacitated from muscle soreness just from trying to ward off his attacks. If her memory served her correctly, she recalled his trademark animalistic grip that could strangle a feral animal.

 

She would almost feel sorry for the perpetrator—if he hadn’t that killed her respected colleague of 5 years. Her right brain easily endorsed Eren’s measures after she emotionally placed them all into perspective. Maybe even condoned it. But her logical left-brain knew that this was probably not going to achieve the results that they wanted in the long run.

 

She knew that Eren loved Armin with every fiber of his being—every cell of his body. The crushing, debilitating loss could be felt from by osmosis—apparent it was void he could never fill.

 

His strong sense of justice had been activated and he planned to correct the injustice—avenge his friend. He wanted revenge. He knew that the penal system’s punishment would never compensate him for Armin’s presence—his touch, his laugh. He would have to seek his own version of righteous reparations.

 

He currently had the upper hand. With the ringleader by the balls, Annie was “plan” was sure to fail. Eren was going to make sure of it.

 

“Armin,” He whispered, disheartened.

 

Pregnant.

 

They could have had a pretty little house on the side of the shore with a small yard. He would have bought Armin and their baby anything their heart desired.

 

Strangled by his own fantasizes, he envisioned them in their quaint little house. Armin was pressing their baby’s cheek against his own, brandishing a hearty laugh from the little tike. A small hand harmlessly waved strips of blonde hair. Armin was so amazed by the incredible miracle of life that he only cooed in response. The sound chilled Eren to his very bones.

 

 It… It all could have been so beautiful.

 

His visage was interrupted by a ghoulish figure that plagued the recesses of his mind. He insisted it was his conscious but it was just a demon of regrets. He knew that he was still breathing. Still alive. But he felt like he was rotting from the inside out.

 

Although he had been the one to kill Riccardi, Armin had been the one to suffer.

 

Eren felt a new surge of tears sting his eyes.

 

He would do anything, give anything he owned to be in Armin’s place.

* * *

 

 Armin felt his eyes open to a striking nebulousness—a glaring light peering into his line of vision.

 

He was alive…

 

The unmistakable beeping of the heart monitor was recording of his heart patterns… was indisputable proof.

 

He sought immediate validation from the nurse that stood at his bedside recording his vitals on the chart at the end of his bed. The distinct sterilized smell of the hospital clawed at his button nose.

 

Alive.

 

He pulled the oxygen mask off.

 

His overwrought muscles exerted themselves as he pushed his limp body into an upright position. The numb sensations of his abdomen wounds were alarmingly sensitive. They must have had him doped up on a large amount of painkillers via the IV drip. Judging by the horrendous, wrenching pain that he had suffered through the ordeal, he must have been on enough medication to tranquilize a horse. He winced a bit, for the first time feeling the tight bandage around his head that was bound by medical tape. He supposed that he had probably sustained some type of concussion when he unintentionally fell flat to the floor after being shot.

 

He had no idea how much time had passed since he had been admitted to the trauma center of the hospital. He didn’t know the status of the hostage situation. He had no idea whether an outside source, such as law enforcement had diffused the situation or if there was still a stagnant standoff. His nagging intuition told him that no one in the hierarchy of power had been informed about the incident. Everyone’s devices had been collected and they were geographically isolated from anyone going for help. He was the only one who could tip off the authorities.

 

His eyes met with an analogical clock near the door of his all white room.

 

**11:43 P.M.**

 

The nurse balked, rushing to his bedside, gripping his shoulder cautiously.

 

“Doctor, he needs more anesthesia! Hurry! He definitely should not be awake!” She called urgently.

 

Damn, she was calling in the anesthesiologist to put him under again.

 

“Wait, no stop!” Armin slurred, weakly trying to pry her fingers away. “I-I need a phone.”

 

“No, you need to be resting. We lost you twice on the operating table. You—”

 

Armin tried to avoid letting the statement penetrate his head.

 

_He had died twice on the table._

 

He shut his eyes ever so tightly. No, he had to swipe these thoughts out of his mind. “Please. It’s between life and death,” he said carefully.

 

She was squeamish. She know that he had been shot twice and there might be immediate danger elsewhere. Against her better judgment, she pulled out her cellphone from his scrubs pocket, unlocked it, and warily handed it to him.

 

He quickly dialed the number to the FBI’s headquarters—then Erwin’s extension. If he wasn’t mistaken, he had decided to stay overnight tonight.

 

A crackle hit the line. “Hello?”

 

“Erwin, it’s Agent Arlert. We have a problem.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“There’s a hostage situation at the Banquet.”

 

“What?! Is Levi there?”

 

“Yes.” Armin sighed.

 

“…Is he ok?”

 

Armin bit his lip. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“I’m in the hospital. The terrorists that crashed the party and shot me.”

 

Subtle silence. “A-are you okay?”

 

“I’m alive.” He deadpanned, evasively answering. “This is important and I need you to listen to me.” Armin took the largest breath his sore ribcages would allow.

 

“They have all the agents confined to one room. The dining room. They cut off all mode of communication by confiscating everyone’s cellphones. If I’m not mistaken there are five of them and they have high-powered AK rifles with plenty of ammunition—on their person. If you’re going to send a team to ambush them, they have to enter from the above. There’s an overhead tunnel that is very navigable. If you don’t wish to go that route, you can always snipe them from the outside. If I’m not mistaken there are two bay windows in the dining room which would make it pretty easy to get a clear shot.”

 

“What do you recommend?” Erwin pressed, indecision plaguing his tone.

 

Armin huffed under the pressure.

 

“In my professional opinion sir, I think it’s best to snipe them from the outside. They probably are prepared in the event that any specialized team tries to subdue their efforts physically, through close combat. It’s far too risky to try to disarm them at close range. We should minimize the gamble as much as possible. Every life is valuable.”

 

“Alright.” Erwin sounded more pensive then ever before. “I’ll form a team right now.” He heard motion on the other end of the phone.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Yes, Arlert?”

 

“Please make sure Eren doesn’t do anything stupid. You know how reckless he can get in situations like this.”

 

Armin’s concerned fondness seeped through the phone and he couldn’t help but think of how similar their bond was to the one he shared with Levi. He closed his eyes. He just hoped for their sake, that they both were all right.

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

“T-thank you.”

 

“Take care.”

 

“Same.”

 

Armin slowly turned the phone over.

 

“H-hostage situation?” She flinched, hugging her phone to her chest.

 

Armin nodded, feeling fatigue pelt his body.

 

He was glad for small favors. If the anesthesiologists were doing their job correctly he would have been still lifeless underneath the drugs and he wouldn’t have been able to make that call to Erwin.

 

His thoughts gradually shifted from thoughts of the phone call—saving everyone. _Saving_ Eren. Their baby. Wait, were they able to save—

 

“My _baby_ …” Armin’s voiced thinned, spindling into extinction. The nurse’s head shot up. “What happened to her?”

 

“We prioritized your life.” Her mouth formed a strong, sullen line. “I’m sorry Mr. Arlert, she didn’t make it.”

 

Armin felt his mouth stall and his hand glaze over the surgical glue that held his caesarean incision together. He visibly trembled and his heart leaped from his body. His worst fear had come to fruition.

 

Within the span of two of a breath and a blink, he transformed from a cool collected agent into a frantic, motherly mess without warning. His blood pressure immediately spiked and his breathing became labored. He pulled his knees into his chest and wobbled as tears flowed from his distraught blue eyes. The ElectroCardioGram showed Armin’s indisputably rising blood pressure and increasing heart rate.

 

_His little girl. His baby. She was gone._

“I need some help in here!” His current nurse yelled, trying to adjust his position on the bed. They couldn’t risk Armin reopening his stitches. This time, they didn’t know if they could staunch the bleeding like they fought to do in the initial surgery. Luckily, a team of nurses and two professional doctors dashed in, preventing the inevitable.

 

“Blood pressure is 140 over 90.” The operating surgeon informed hurriedly, while trying to keep him pinned in place.

 

“Get him a mild sedative,” The resident ordered. A short nurse fiddled in some nearby cased needles and calmly sunk the metal into the IV.

 

“Wait, what e-exactly happened? Wasn’t she _alive_ when I came here?!” He practically yelled at the head attendant, tears raining down his enflamed cheeks. He wanted answers and he wanted them _now_.

 

Unfortunately, his strong convictions dwindled as the drugs progressively hijacked his system.

 

“I thought—It’s not fair! She… Eren and I… We were supposed to…” His condemnations for the event died down to a still as he felt his body slow into a much-needed slumber.

 

Visitors and doctors alike morosely recognized the maternity wards shrieks as another mother that had just inherited a grim set of horrendous news that would change their lives permanently.

 

* * *

 

“Let him go, you dumbass!”

 

“No! If you all let everyone go, I’ll release him to you! If you’re not willing to do that then we have no deal!” Eren growled, not acquiescing despite the amount of time they had been at odds. “Tick tock. He needs medical attention.”

 

Swiftly and without warning, a single bullet splintered the window. Blood wildly splattered. All that followed were horrified screams.

 

_“E-ren… I need… you… to stay safe, f-for me. Promise.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I brought on the heartache. I apologize. All Q,C,C's are welcome. Thanks again for reading. Kisses.


	4. Extinguish

The ringleader, dead in his arms from a bullet wound to the right temple, Eren blinked dubiously, feeling the sensation in his extremities fall numb. The marksmanship of the sniper was flawless, only managing to kill the leader. After the splatter of blood, the remnants on his face, Eren glimpsed at the other hostage attackers only to see them flat on their stomachs with their hands splayed out level to their head. The other agents that remained huddled together ceased their cries after they realized that Eren wasn’t the one that was harmed in the unexpected rattle of gunfire.

A pregnant silence was shattered when Eren coldly dumped the body to the floor and released the pistol from his custody. Everything was a haze from there. Eren emptily followed the evacuation procedures as they apprehended the other subjects in the dining room after they surrendered. The tactical unit thoroughly inspected the premises, eliminating all possible threats. The federal bomb squad disarmed a soda can bomb that was wired and set to explode in 35 minutes. After they declared it was safe and no longer considered an active threat, they reported back to Erwin—as did the tactical unit.

They all trailed one another out of the building like zombies as the bomb squad combed the area once more for additional explosives as a last precaution.

Emergency vehicles were stationed outside the building as the other two gunmen were detained in a bus. Paramedics remained on standby in case anyone was in need of medical intervention or was injured during the course of the crisis. Luckily, only minor injuries were tended to such as bruises with one agent tending to their fluctuating blood sugar levels.

They raided the SUVs used to commit the crimes as confiscated all their weapons and contraband. They had nearly an unlimited supply of weapons that could have easily stripped every agent of their livelihood in a split second.

Levi hissed his teeth, rearranging the cuffs of his tux, annoyed that he had lost his new diamond cufflinks. He unknowingly marched straight into Erwin, the blaring sirens deafening his senses.

A tender meeting of the flesh flushed out of the bitterness straight of Levi’s heart. A touch to the back of his neck and a flurry of sincere words smashed against Levi’s ears—“You’re okay.” The callous finger pads managed a firm grip as sympathetic blues charged the shorter man’s body with an unpredictable but undeniable feelings of love.

Damn.

He knew Erwin cared more than him than anything in this entire world. However, he had a substandard execution of these feelings. Sometimes, Levi needed to be reminded—or tirades happened.

Erwin sighed, retracting his shaking extremities.

Levi snapped from his pitiful reverie and scrambled to respond. “Yeah… I’m alright.”

Erwin cast one jarring smile that Levi missed. Before this position stole it. He reveled in the beauty as Erwin leaned in against his forehead. “I’m so grateful.”

Levi shut his eyes tightly as the summer gust raged against his exposed skin; wondering if this would be the single moment in years that would make him actually shed tears.

* * *

  
Perplexed at the least and lost at the worst—Eren Jaeger roamed about the foyer, his gray eyes attaching to human blood stain spoiling the wooden planks. Alarm blasted him entirely. Barely a step away from collapsing, he snatched a SWAT agent from active duty to hysterically question him.

“Armin?! Where is he?!”

The agent remained calm as he could with a man twice his size jostling him around carelessly.

“Armin?” He asked? “There was no body here when we arrived on the scene. So, unfortunately, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Eren temporarily gave pause before he unleashed a tortured scream.

“Where is he? Armin, where are you?!”

Erwin became aware of the echo of what sounded like the cries of Eren Jaeger emanating from the empty building. He flinched, removing himself from the screech of sirens, moving toward the entrance.

Eren stumbled out, disoriented. He plopped on the hot cement. Helplessly, he dropped his head into his hands. He sobbed harder than a newborn baby. “I-I-Ar…min!”

He was sure that they must have dumped his body to eliminate conclusive evidence. Those bastards.

“Eren!” Levi anxiously looked on as Erwin jogged to his distraught subordinate.

Red puffy eyes looked up at him, silently begging for a breath of solace. Thankfully, Erwin was happy that he could impart him with some. Truthfully, he empathized with every fiber of his being. He could imagine being in Eren’s position—briefly, he thought he was until he saw Levi walk out unharmed. It was singularly the largest load eased from his shoulder, contrary to the fact that he dealt with 10 years of incidents and crises. Sadly, as he saw the scarring form in Eren’s soul, he was a little too glad to say he wasn’t walking in his shoes.

“Armin’s gone…” Eren winced, sniffling.

“Eren.” Erwin shook his head dolefully. “Armin’s in the hospital. I’ve spoken to him. He’s alive.”

Eren was in stop motion as he felt his joints splint and his spirit rise from the dead as his bones melted into jelly. He wobbled as he cleared his face of a flurry of tears as he understandably choked up. “Can I p-please g-go see him…?” He could not complete the sentence but of course, Erwin didn’t need him to.

In this warped world, Armin received the help he needed.

He was stuck between being grateful for Armin getting the help that he needed or being distraught that he had been injured in the first place.

The sting of his eyes discontinued registering to him as he was led to the armed vehicle, Mikasa propping him up the entire time. Somewhere in his subconscious, he heard her crying from the good news.

Erwin had also informed that Armin had been the one to inform them of the hostage situation. Technically, he had been their savior. This was especially rare considering that he was the only one that was critically injured. There would be no telling what would have happened if the FBI squad had not interfered.

His head pounded relentlessly as the car soared on the road to the hospital. He recalled their daily routine. At least twice a week, he would be so dog-tired that he would easily sleep through his boisterous alarm. Armin, in an attempt to save Eren from prosecution from Levi, would crawl into his bed and touch the side of his face and sometimes whisper, “Hey… Eren, get it’s time to get up,” against the shell of ear. Eren’s heart would thud ardently from the contact and he woke with much less of a start than he would from his roaring alarm. Once, he even falsely stayed in bed just so Armin would press his body against his, with his damp hair that smelled like a fresh flower garden grazing his edge of his nose. After he accidentally released a breathy laugh, Armin flushed red and pouted, setting back on his haunches. “You’re not even asleep, Eren!”

Armin frowned and lowered himself to Eren’s amused expression. “Don’t you think that you’re taking advantage of my kindness just a little bit?”

“Is it still considered ‘taking advantage’ if I return the kindness?” He had locked eyes with the betrayed blues until they softened into a brush of enamor. Eren caught his lips. And even though Armin was still irritated, he kissed him back. Eren smiled into the kiss, so appreciative to be close to someone as sweet and forgiving as Armin.

Then he remembered when they trucked in after their long days to their room, they would crash into Eren’s bed. He and Armin would talk about anything that came to mind. Eren would stare at him while he struggled to stay awake with him. Eren eyes couldn’t be torn away from Armin’s daring features. His long wispy lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his beautiful blue eyes that quivered open and closed. His button, ski-slope nose that added to Armin’s engendered innocence. The unadorned glory of his plump, luscious lips. He became so entranced that sometimes, without prompting from a romantic precursor, he would intermittently kissed Armin while he was talking. He usually didn’t stop until Armin burst into a fit of giggles and begged him to stop so he could finish his thought without interruption. “Eren! Let me finish!”

The memories made him even more woeful as they barreled into the hospital parking lot. Trapped in a trance, he entered the hospital. He, still desensitized, went to the proper channels to find Armin. After speaking to a few people at the desk, he discovered that Armin was admitted to the maternity ward for recovery. After procuring directions to the well lit corridor of the maternity ward, he wandered until he was approached by a concerned nurse that took into account Eren and Mikasa’s tattered, disheveled appearance.

“Hi, can I help you, sir?”

“I’m… I’m looking for Armin Arlert.”

“Visiting hours are over. Are you family?” She validated any allowed persons written into the nearby visitation log. Apparently, Armin had not been able to specify any allowed visitors. It made him question what Armin’s true condition was.

Mikasa lingered behind Eren, trying to avoid smothering the man. He still needed time to sort through this roller coaster of emotions. And she would give him as much time as needed.

Eren stiffened and the tension released after he realized that he needed to provide an answer or else she would think that he was avoiding the question.

“Well, he’s pregnant… and I’m the father,” He croaked out, threading his hands together worriedly.

Mikasa silently gasped as a knee jerk reaction. Eren was… they had? She was always under the impression that their relationship was thoroughly platonic. She had never regarded the telltale signs that they had been romantically involved. She had always interpreted their closeness as friendly interaction.

An unprovoked image of Eren and Armin rotting in the sheets together wrecked her brain.

She had been blind… Meanwhile, Armin had Eren’s baby growing inside him. And she was having a tough time gauging it.

She lightly reminisced on their time together in the FBI. What did she miss? When had it started?

Why didn’t they tell her?

“Wait here,” Eren directed Mikasa who nodded aimlessly—still hammering into her head in the devastating information. Her legs wavered as she found the nearest chair for her unsteady legs to collapse in.

* * *

  
Eren was led to a secluded room. His mind was deceived into thinking he entering a different portal. One that coincidentally contained the most precious thing to him… Armin Arlert.

The piercing beeping of the heart monitoring machines happily announcing that his beloved had evaded the grasps of death and he was going to see… Touch… Feel…

He inhaled an additional breath that he was compressing into his lungs. His eyesight paled as he took a gander upon… Armin. The blond was paused in suspension, oxygen mask intact, as he observed the attending nurse inserted a cocktail of blood transfusion medicine, pain killers, and corresponding antibiotics into his IV drip. The survivor looked so small in comparison to the isolated bed and far paler than he ever remembered his peachy skin being.

Eren felt his knees nearly give way and his hand clutch the pristine doorway drawing attention from the nurse. Armin was unaware of the minute noise and resorted to following following his longhaired nurse’s line of vision. Right then and there, Armin conceded to his exposure to a crushing relief and cataract of tears.

Armin removed his oxygen mask as fast as he could.

“E-eren…” He feebly squeaked out. He gasped in the delicate way only he could, his pinkening face that was overrun with emotion absolutely demolishing any expectation for Eren to maintain his poise.

“Armin,” Eren whispered, scatterbrain as he eagerly barreled into the space, his feet weakly making it to the visiting chair, pulling it up—his eyes already bleary with hot tears.

“You’re okay… I—I was so worried…” Armin’s hand extended into the mess of black hair tenderly, skittering all the way down to Eren’s heated cheeks. Eren basked in contact, gathering from his from Armin’s trembling digits that he was still weak—still fighting. Eren’s fingers grazed the curve of his lukewarm clammy palms and tow considerably larger hands. Eren brought himself to kiss Armin’s right hand, his temporary composure waning.

He had attacked the armed ringleader in a successful attempt to take advantage of the situation. He could have been fatally injured but with a stroke of luck, he wasn’t. The promise that he had made to Armin was supposed to be the wind in his sails and his motivations for life but instead he had been reckless, only selfishly caring about revenge. He knew he should be honest with Armin but he hardly thought it was time to confess his moral failings.

Eren squeezed the hand, trying to fathom that in reality, Armin was really here with him. This was real. He involuntarily felt his chest heave at the realization. “I thought that I… I-I’m j-us-t so glad…”

Armin hoarsely bumbled, “I know…”

The nurse had left, not wishing to disrupt their powerful emotional reunion.

Eren settled his head against Armin’s hand, sobbing without the foreseeable end in sight. When solitude had leeched into his palpable pain, he found the energy to lift his head.

“Armin… Our baby…” Beads of sweat pooled on the back of his neck, fretfulness relaxing on the bulk of his shoulders. Anticipating an answer, the air thickened and Armin entered another fit of tears—like Eren had pulled a trigger. He gripped Eren’s hand mildly asking for a medium of support.

“She… She didn’t make it.” He gasped in the air that the trauma of the miscarriage that he wouldn’t afford him. Something that he couldn’t imagine himself saying 12 days earlier.

Shell shocked, Eren mumbled, “She?”

Finally, eye contact. Armin quickly cut his line of vision, resorting to the safety of the united hands in his lap. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice wavering with guilt, sorrow, and smidgen of disbelief. He closed his blue eyes, his tear ducts flaming vision blurry. He shook his head mournfully. “I should have told you,” He lamented.

Armin’s stomach lurched and felt like his throat was barred from producing sound. All he could generate now, was regret. "Y-yeah. I'm sorry... I should have-"

Eren intervened before Armin claimed all responsibility for this entire tragedy—the one that resulted in their death of their baby daughter. "Armin, you did nothing wrong. This wasn't your fault."

Armin huffed, the buffer of silence for the painful conversations that were a product of the horror they just endured taking place.

Eren had so many questions he wanted to ask Armin. How did you find out? Why didn’t you really tell me? Did anyone else know? But he settled for this non-destructive question of... "How long did you know...?"

"12 days."

"You felt like you couldn't tell me... And that's my fault. If I had... I'm sorry Armin. I'm really sorry..." Eren rubbed his left hand over his face, the new situation inflicting more pain than Eren had never experienced in his life. He was so close to losing everything. And now he was imprisoned between the melancholy of Armin’s miscarriage and the joy that Armin had managed to survive.

"Eren..." Armin wept, his delicate hand becoming unstable in Eren’s. "Stop. Don't blame yourself."

"It won't change anything." He sullenly muttered. "She's still... She's still..."

“I’m sorry… I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry,” Eren muttered over and over again, the apology becoming a distinct mantra for the remorseful man. Armin violently hiccuped, moved by the show of ruefulness that his best friend shared with him. Eren planted a kiss on Armin’s hand, trying to grossly compensate for all that he was responsible for and possibly all that he wasn’t.

Armin didn’t deserve this. And he didn’t deserve Armin.

"Armin..." Eren pleaded. "I'm so sorry this happened."

"Eren..." Armin whispered, sounding so fatigued and strained. He knew that this heartbreak would cut deep and he had no idea if they would both survive the reverberations of the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAN THEY or CAN'T THEY rebuild what they lost?! Ah, I'm such a jerk. 
> 
> Thanks for reading you beautiful people.


End file.
